Game Over
by Maeveth
Summary: AU, yakuzaverse fic. The underground is harsh, brutal on even the most hardened souls. Every now and then, though, beauty rises out of the darkness.
1. Prologue The Senator

"The area's secured, Kajimoto-sama."

"Excellent. Thank you, Reiji."

Kajimoto Takahisa's lips curved in a smirk as he finished putting in the last of the day's numbers into his laptop. Hearing that their immediate area was secured was something of a relief; it meant he could actually go home without wondering if he was going to get shot dead en route. The region had been getting more and more volatile as the war heated up, and not even the neutral parties were really safe anymore.

He closed his laptop, sliding it into its case and rising. Shinjiou walked out without a word, though by the time Kajimoto had left the secluded, high tech back room and slid through the rather seedy bar that fronted it, the guard was waiting in his entirely ordinary-looking Toyota sedan. Kajimoto slid into the back seat, closing the door and letting out a sigh. Shinjiou started the engine, but waited until they were in motion to say anything. "Received another overture from Atobe-sama today. His offers grow handsomer every time."

"That's because they lose more people every time and need our manpower," Kajimoto said dryly. "He's hunting down Rokkaku too, I know he is. They want us more because they want our teamwork."

"Aa." Shinjiou wove the car deftly through the streets of Tokyo, eventually leaving the main urban area and winding down a few roads to a gated plot of land, far enough away that the traffic didn't disturb the tranquility. He buzzed himself into the gate, driving in as the iron slowly swung open. "He has some foot soldiers left, but he's down in his recruiting. The main seven remain, though, and he has Seigaku in his corner as well."

"Always has, always will," the violet-eyed one snorted. "If he wasn't so hellbent on getting Tezuka in bed, then maybe they wouldn't, but hey."

Shinjiou snorted as he pulled up in front of the large, two-story house. Kajimoto climbed out of the car, shouldering his bag. "Keep Hiroshi in line, would you? And keep me posted." The bodyguard snorted; he always got saddled with the job of keeping the redhead in line. Lucky him. The Toyota drove off, and Kajimoto headed into his house. It was large; five bedrooms, spacious kitchen, every guy's dream den, three car garage. It was also very very empty. He lived alone, after all, and likely always would. The laptop bag was put in its place, and he removed shoes and suit jacket before wandering into the den. For a moment, he just stood there, eyes closed.

_When you first joined the yakuza...when I did...did you think it would be like this?_


	2. A Monster and a Lucky bastard

The view was good, but then, it was always good. Sengoku Kiyosumi had taken to spending a lot of his free time leaning against the balcony railing on the nightclub's second floor, drink in hand, watching the gyrations of the dancers below. Sharp bluegreen eyes picked out notable faces; the Doll was here, apparently, as was the Neko. Not surprising. They worked together a lot. The Tiger was behind the bar as usual, dishing out his particular brand of poison. He didn't see the Devil, but then the Diva probably had him occupied. The Gentleman was lurking around, though, which made it very likely that the Harlequin was lurking as well. The power balance of the night leaned in Rikkai's favor.

He remembered when it didn't matter who was in the club.

That hadn't been all that long ago, either. The Hyotei Corporation and the Rikkai Corporation had still been the two biggest factions in the local yakuza scene, but neither was really at each other's throats. The usual squabbles for territory, the standard nitpicky encounters; nothing out of the ordinary.

That had all changed abruptly when Gakuto had decided he was going to have a little 'fun' with Kamio. Hyotei learned in a really big hurry that there were a few things one didn't do, and molesting Sanada's live-in lover was high on the list. The retaliatory strike had been swift and dangerous, and the uneasy truce had become outright warfare. Each side fought dirty, striking when one least expected it. Neither cared which tactics they employed, be it rape, theft, murder, whatever got them to their goal.

Most groups picked sides. Hyotei had gone in search of Seigaku, persuading their enigmatic leader to join forces. Rikkai had gathered up St. Rudolph and Fudomine, the latter thanks to Kamio's calling everyone he knew to their cause. Sengoku and his partner had remained neutral for the time being. The Yamabuki duo had it easy, though; everyone knew they didn't need either side. As long as Akutsu and Sengoku had each other, there wasn't a damn soul who could touch them. Sengoku was too precise of a shot, and Akutsu was scary as hell even WITHOUT a gun.

The other two neutral factions were a little more worrisome than one duo from Yamabuki, though.

Rokkaku was neutral purely because they preferred to fuck people over rather than actively work for anyone. Saeki Kojirou - the Silver Tiger - was a fearsome leader and a raging bastard all rolled into one parcel. They weren't too terribly active in the powerplay, though their maliciousness could occasionally tip a battle one way or the other. The more troublesome group was Jyousei.

Where most yakuza groups were held together by money and power, Jyousei was held by strong interpersonal bonds. Their strength was their unity, most of it founded on their charismatic leader. Sengoku reflected, briefly, on the enigma that was Kajimoto Takahisa. He'd been a noted criminal defense attorney before the escalating violence chased him underground -- charming, loquacious, Harvard-educated and wealthy as all get out. He commanded the total loyalty of his faction in a way that nobody else could manage.

If Jyousei joined a side, it could well mean impending doom for the other group.

"Hey. Kiyo."

Sengoku turned to look at the tall yakuza who had materialized at his side. Akutsu Jin was one of the few people in the underworld who could scare the shit out of almost everyone on looks alone. His chin-length, bleached white hair stood almost on end, myriad piercings adorned his face, and the ropy muscles on his arms spoke of enough strength to break a person in half without a thought. In the presence of his partner, though, he was quiet, almost docile, amber eyes uncaring. "Rumor's sayin' the Devil's Advocate's spending way too much time holed up with the Diva."

"Enh." Lucky snorted, knocking back the rest of his screwdriver and sticking the glass on a nearby table. "Probably fucking each other stupid. Whoop-te-fucking-doo." He was disinterested in most of the gossip. It only became important when it might shift the balance of power, which in turn might pull Yamabuki directly into the fray. He turned around, leaning against the rail and settling his attention fully on Akutsu.

"Probably. This could be fucking major, though, Kiyo." Akutsu's pierced lips curved in a not-altogether-nice smirk. "The Devil's been shadowing the Senator. From a distance." If Hyotei was courting Jyousei, it meant a significant swing was in the works. The white-haired Monster watched the play of emotions across the redhead's features, moving from surprise to dismay to a hard, cold, biting smile that was far unlike his usual affable cheer.

"Dancing with the devil, hm? We'll keep an eye on that. That could change the whole fucking balance if they fucking line themselves up with Pretty Pretty Princess Atobe." Sengoku snorted, shoving away from the railing. "I wanna go home. You done here?"

"Yeah." The duo snaked their way through the crowd, exiting the club and traversing the familiar path that led to their run-down apartment. It was usually a disaster area, but it had a couch that actually had springs and a mattress that didn't have a divot in the middle. It wasn't much, but it was home. Lucky dropped himself on the couch, flipping on the TV and waiting for Akutsu to join him, a faint smile on his lips. It wasn't much...but it held the only person that mattered to him. That made it better than any palace, anywhere.


	3. A Frozen Emperor and a Black Cat

The full moon's light streamed in through the penthouse window, bathing everything in its eerie silver glow. It was well past the hour when the world went to bed; even most of the yakuza had retreated to rest and lick their wounds. Sanada Genichirou, however, was still awake. He stood at the bedroom window, gazing out at the world below. He rarely slept. His mind was too busy with plans and assaults, battles won and lost. Behind him, he could hear the quiet sounds of his lover slumbering.

When he'd taken the helm of the Rikkai Corporation, it was still a front business, very up-and-up and an excellent cover for the yakuza activities that went on beneath its seemingly spotless exterior. As the fighting with Hyotei increased, though, they'd all had to retreat down to the underworld. Hyotei had more men and more resources, but Rikkai was winning all the important battles. They took their toll, though.

Another soft noise, this one sounding more like it came from a waking person rather than a sleeping one, got him to turn. The wan light picked out the colors of the tattoo on his shirtless torso, the gory scene spreading across muscled back and down sinewy arms, the ink depicting samurai committing seppuku while tigers coiled restlessly around the edges. He walked over to the bed and sat down, idly smoothing a bit of red hair out of that lovely face with calloused fingertips. The slender form stretched, yawned, then blinked as a single dark blue eye focused in on the elder yakuza.

"Still awake, baby?" Kamio Akira's voice was hazy with slumber, his vision clearing a bit but not entirely. His good eye was still sharp, but the fact that his blind side was facing up threw his perception off somewhat. He scooted over, half-curling himself around Sanada's side.

"You know I don't sleep much." The deep voice was cold, painted with ice and tinted with frost. It was far from the redhead's warm, lively, occasionally strident tones. They seemed very disparate on the surface; most of the Rikkai group were confused as to why the Emperor kept the diminutive Black Cat in his bed. They didn't have a damn thing in common, after all, beyond being yakuza. Sanada settled on the bed, pulling the redhead close.

"You need to sleep more." Kamio curled up next to his lover, blue eyes concerned. The Emperor never slept. He collapsed from exhaustion before he slept. Lately it had been getting worse and worse; it was almost as though those things that made him human were eroding, leaving nothing but a breathing machine in their place. Kamio tried to stop the destruction, but it seemed that all he could do was slow it. "Rest now?"

Sanada relented, laying down and keeping his young lover near. The eleven years' worth of age difference didn't matter; Kamio exerted a calming influence, lending him the feeling that he was home and comfortable. He never got that feeling anywhere else, with anyone else. Tucking his arms gently around the slim frame, he nuzzled at russet waves of hair, frozen brown eyes closing. "Wake me if the phone rings."

"Mmmhmm." Kamio snuggled himself up tightly. Sometimes it concerned him, the way that his lover never understood emotional expressions. He knew their bond was a strong one, but it was the kind of bond that ran well beneath the surface, beneath the ice that shrouded the Emperor's soul. He never got a response, but he said it anyway. The other reciprocated in his own fashion. "Love you."

There was indeed no response. Sanada merely kissed the redhead gently, much-needed sleep pulling him down into its embrace. He didn't understand those words, had dealt out too much death to know what love was anymore. As he followed his already-dozing lover into slumber, he decided that all he needed to know was that Kamio was his, and he'd do anything to protect the one at his side.


	4. The Devil's Whispers, the Diva's Answers

"You aggravate Ore-sama. Details, Oshitari, and now."

Atobe Keigo sneered across his expansive desk at the bespectacled man sitting on the other side. How dare he. How dare Oshitari Yuushi walk in here like he owned the place and drop news that Rikkai was making yet another advance. How dare he. Of course, he knew how Oshitari dared; the Devil's Advocate could do anything he wanted with anyone he wanted. He was the undeniable genius of Hyotei, one whose brainpower was surpassed only by his insanely sexy brand of charisma. Not even the Diva was immune to it.

Oshitari knew this, of course.

"Honestly, Keigo," he purred, turning up the sultry quality of his voice to eleven. "You're entirely too demanding. Suffice it to say that I've heard rumors that Rikkai has Yamabuki under their wing. Having Lucky and the Monster at their beck and call makes for a very dangerous situation." He clucked his tongue, midnight eyes sardonically amused behind meaningless lenses. "That's what you get for not listening to me."

"Ore-sama has half a mind to..." Atobe's growled threat trailed off as his brain registered the fact that Oshitari had gotten up out of his chair and was now leaning across the desk, dark eyes boring into his own from mere inches away. He blinked, wondering idly how the other man had gotten up without his realizing it.

"Ore-sama can save that half a mind for a later date." With about that much warning, Oshitari leaned forward, capturing Atobe's lips in a searing, demanding kiss. It wasn't loving; rather, it was very to the point and almost exclusively lustful in nature. The Diva melted into the gesture, one hand rising to bury long manicured fingers in thick waves of blueblack hair. Without breaking the kiss, Oshitari slid around to Atobe's side of the desk, gathering him close.

Atobe was never really cognizant of exactly how they got into these situations. All he knew was that no matter how ticked off he was at his tactical specialist, it all went out the window the moment those talented hands got themselves on him. He shrugged out of his jacket as fingers undid his tie and the buttons of his dress shirt, exploring pale flesh as the fabric parted. He was hyperaware of the lips now traveling down his jawline, the hands swiftly and deftly undoing his belt buckle and trouser fasteners. When those same fingers slid beneath the fabric to brush over his rapidly-growing arousal, he had to bite off a strangled cry. He almost whined when the lips vanished from his throat...and outright groaned when he felt them envelop his erection.

Oshitari always loved watching Atobe from this angle. Head flung back, cerulean eyes half-open, lips parted, skin flushed...he was beautiful. He was beyond beautiful. Everything about him made the Devil want to take him right here, right now. He ran his tongue over the sensitive organ in his hand, his free hand reaching into the top drawer of the desk for the tube he always left there. He reveled in the sounds of the Diva writhing in pleasure as he slicked his fingers up, pressing one, then two, into the beauty's opening.

Atobe screamed as his body was invaded. It was a good thing, perhaps, that the executive wing was deserted at this time of day. He shuddered as a third finger joined the first two, stretching and preparing as Oshitari's lips and tongue tortured him. Abruptly, his whole body jerked as the probing fingers pushed firmly into the spot guaranteed to drive him insane. "Goddamnitall, Yuushi," he gasped, gaze flashing down. "Quit messing around and fuck me. Now."

"I live to serve." Oshitari bestowed one last lick on the other's arousal, undoing his own pants and pulling his fingers free. Atobe whimpered at being suddenly empty, even as a firm hand bent him over the desk, forcing him facefirst onto the smooth oak. Not a moment later another scream erupted as the Devil thrust into him, setting up a rhythm designed to fuck him right into his own desk without so much as a by-your-leave. Not that he minded. He was too busy groaning and moaning and generally enjoying himself, right up until the fingers that had been steadily working his arousal drew an earthshattering climax out of him.

After Oshitari reached his own release, he half-fell back into the desk chair, pulling Atobe with him. The Diva permitted himself a moment of unabashed cuddling, laying aside the pressures of leading the Hyotei Corporation and the yakuza faction that lived behind it. He wasn't aware of the fact that his dark-haired lover was looking off into nothing, his mind traveling back years, back to another who looked similar but was ever so different from the self-absorbed Diva.

_I wonder...what are you doing tonight? _


	5. The Doll's House

The basement of the club had dual purposes, the Doll reflected, as he surveyed his domain. The obvious was the playground of the very wealthy and very debauched; there was a creative variety of BDSM equipment set up around the dark room, all lovingly tended to, all available for the right price. It was frequently in use for such purposes, the thunderous music upstairs covering the sounds from below.

The other purpose was much more sinister, and much less publicized.

Equipment that could be used for pleasure could be turned to produce dire pain as well, after all. The Doll had made this his realm, employing a sadistic sense of humor and an intimate knowledge of agony to become Fudomine's primary inquisitioner. He looked harmless when not wearing the surgical mask that was one of his trademarks; delicate, almost feminine features, deep blue eyes, thick black hair worn shoulder-length. Ibu Shinji was hardly the sort of person one would find threatening if one bumped into him on the street.

Truth be told, not even most of the local yakuza found him threatening. He wasn't tall or broad in the shoulders; when he spoke it was a quiet monotone, a stream-of-consciousness monologue that went on and on and ON AND ON until people either tuned him out or he decided he didn't have anything else to say. Most discounted him completely.

A lot of the time they found out the hard way why he wasn't to be discounted.

He went about the meticulous task of cleaning the tools of his trade; the needles that could gouge out eyes without effort, the tiny little scalpels that were marvelous for making incisions that stung under the application of a mild acid, the rough iron shackles that kept his victims where they belonged while he worked. He was a fastidious sort of person, and disliked a dirty working environment. Pity he couldn't do much about the permanent bloodstains on the floor.

He heard the door slam, his head jerking up and a hand reaching for the needles..though the brash, rough footsteps marked the incoming person as Kamio. He relaxed, placid eyes observing the Neko as he slid into the basement. "Damn, doll, don't you ever come out of here?" The redhead's incessant use of the pet name had given Shinji his yakuza handle. He didn't mind. It beat a lot of the other things he could have been called.

"Why should I come out of here? I like it here...it's quiet down here except when there's someone screaming...I like the screams, though...they're nice screams but only when I'm causing them...well, I like it when Tachibana-sama causes them too because he's good like that...I want to be good like that...they never listen to me until it's too late and then they scream...I like the screams...they're good screams...I should make you scream...no, I can't do that, Sanada-sama would hurt me..."

Kamio silenced the stream of words with a kiss on those pretty lips. "You're not allowed to make me scream, doll. Save the needles for the ones that deserve it, okay?" The redhead and the dark-eyed one were the oldest of friends, former lovers, tighter than most people who were actually related to one another. They worked together so much that it was almost expected that if you saw one, the other couldn't be too far behind.

Shinji sighed, reaching for his surgical mask and slipping it back into place. "You're no fun, Aki...you'd be so much fun to tie up and make scream...oh, that's right, I forgot, you're a prude...that's why you live with a big chunk of ice...he's a really hot chunk of ice though...I bet he's good in bed...if he ever actually fucks...does he ever actually fuck you, Aki?...he's probably really boring..."

"Good god, Shin!" Kamio had gone as red as his hair, much to Shinji's amusement. The Neko was notorious for being the world's biggest prude, in spite of being one of the few yakuza with a permanent live-in lover. The mere mention of bondage was enough to get Kamio to blush like it was nobody's business...which was why Shinji insisted on doing it on a regular basis. He, at least, could get away with it without a throwing knife embedding itself in his gut.

"You're cute when you blush, Aki." The door opened as they headed back out into Sinpathy, the Doll falling silent as the outside world made its presence known. The mask was in place, the walls of silence were up. The lull between victims was to be enjoyed, after all.


End file.
